Shouldn't I be Less in Love with You?
by TrivialQueen
Summary: What if Henry was faithful to Katherine? AU, SongFic.


Shouldn't I be Less in Love with You?

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Disclaimer: I am not a Theologian, a Historian, or a TV Producer; I therefore do not own any thing. I am also not a musician, the song _Shouldn't I be Less in Love with You?_ is from the musical _I Love You, You're Perfect, Now Change  
_Summary: What if Henry was faithful to Katherine? AU, SongFic.  
Note: Just a little something I dashed off while listening to this song, It's a sweet thought but the show wouldn't be nearly as interesting or long running if it were true.

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Henry looked down at his sleeping wife, finely at peace, her face smooth, free from wrinkles, age, worry, and sorrow. She looked like a perfect angel, just as she did when he first saw her. When he first fell in love with her. When she married his brother. He loved her then and it grew. Through her widowhood it grew, and even after their marriage, lo many years ago it still continued to grow and change. Like ivy around his heart. She made him bloom.

Henry eventually alighted from his bed, it was a glorious morning for a ride and if Katherine were to awake while he watched her – she hated when he did that. His perfect princess, so modest yet so beautiful. He dressed quickly and quietly and slipped from their bedchamber without waking his lovely Spanish bride. In the hall few servants were up, it was early, even for them. He like this time the best, when he could pretend for just a moment he was Harry. Just plain Harry. His life and love private.

He passed through the kitchen to knick an apple. Bessie Blount was there, round with King Francis's child, indulging an eighth month craving for kippers and clotted cream.

_The experts say it does not last.  
The experts say it's fleeting.  
The experts bray love fades so fast  
Then tell me why is my heart still beating?_

There were some that said that love did not last, marriage and the vow of devotion would fade. Like a plucked flower it would flourish and die. It was why kings took mistresses. In their mind they were justified. They were kings, after all, and love was fleeting. And yet Henry could not agree, his heart was still beating. He had loved Katherine, he still loved Katherine. He loved her more today than he did yesterday, and yesterday he loved her more than the day before. Through years it was true, he remained true. His fellows did not believe him; they did not believe that love lasts. But on the Blood of Christ he loved her still.

And yet he did wonder…

_Shouldn't I be less in love with you?  
Shouldn't I address what time can do?  
Shouldn't I be more inclined to flee?  
Shouldn't I explore all I can be?_

If all others love had faded why did his remain? Should he not, after two decades of matrimony be less in love with his wife? She was old now, seven years older than he and twenty years older than the first time they met. Her body was not the slim lithe figure of their wedding night. Children had added soft curves, sorrow had added wrinkles. Worried grey hairs were appearing in her coal locks. And yet he never wanted to leave her side. There was no urge to flee, only the desire to remain.

~_  
_  
_Shouldn't I confess a sorted fling?  
Shouldn't I carress a cute young thing?  
Shouldn't I asses what we've been through?  
Shouldn't I be less in love with you?_

In their youth they had enjoyed participating in as many pageants as the court could support, she was a marvelous dancer and he a most willing partner. But with each pregnancy she sat out of the fray for a longer and longer time until she permanently resigned herself to the role of spectator, claiming to be 'too old and too fat' to partake as she used to. It was so far from the truth, and yet no matter how many times he told her so she still demurred and thusly he participated by himself.

It was the case in this pageant as it was all the others, although this time he did not fear she would be lonely as she watched his antics. It was a play to welcome the arrival of the Emperor's Ambassadors, Mendoza and Chapuys. The Spaniards would keep Katherine company and converse with her in her mother tongue. She did not have many friends to speak of familiar things with, she'd left nearly all of them when she traveled across the channel to his island home.

But he did not dwell on that for the play was to start and he had to defeat the vices and rescue the virtues and make his Lady proud.

He chose Lady Perseverance to rescue, she stood at the top of the tower, beside his sister, fine dark eyes glittering from under her golden mask, and when it came time to dance with his conquest he was rewarded by an equally fine face. He name was,

"Anne Boleyn."

Her eyes beguiling and flattering to his vanity. She was a good dancer and beautiful in her own, unique way. Young as well. If ever a man was in mind to take a mistress she was the woman they would want. And if he was any other Henry would want her as well. But as he saw Katherine from across the room he realized he was not like any other. He did not want her. Not as a mistress, not as a lover. His hand touched hers with no desire, except to dance. He did not want anyone but his Katherine.

_After 30 years together  
All those brutal fights  
those futile fights  
then the sleepless nights_

His time with her was not perfect, though in his eyes she was. They had their fights, especially those first few years of marriage. Those early rows, the slamming of doors, the screams, the curses, the tears. The times he slept alone. They were all part of his past – their past, and it was what made them today. They still fought, though not as often, nor as violently. He had learned to never, never walk away. The door between them hurt more than any harsh word ever could.

He tried to take mistresses, early in their marriage. It was what he knew; the King had a wife and a mistress, or three. It was what they did. But he couldn't do it. They did not captivate him. The did not entice him. Even the beautiful ones were pale in comparison to his Katherine. Even when she was great with child and could not lay with him he did not take another. He simply waited. Each time the came together was special. She was special.

_Shouldn't I have quit 'cause marriage ends?  
Shouldn't we have split like all our friends?  
Shouldn't I profess it's time to go?  
Shouldn't I be less in love with you?_

Henry crawled into their bed late that night, his wife already asleep, curled on her side. He snuffed the candle and spooned against her. Kissing her shoulder and enjoying their closeness.

No their lives had not been perfect. They had lost three sons and two daughters in their time. They got through the pain but it did not go away. Others would not put up with such angst. He knew what other Kings thought, that he should pack her away and find himself a mother that could produce a living male heir. He'd seen it done before.

Why was he not like the others? Why had he not stopped loving her? How come he could not find desire for a mistress? How could he still love her as much as he did – after all these years?

Shouldn't he be less in love with her?

_No._


End file.
